


Good Morning To Everyone Except Via Getty

by onethingconstant



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And also kick Nazis in the face, Antifascist Avengers, As in everyone's wearing masks, Capitol Invasion, Everybody Lives Don’t Worry, Idfic, It’s Probably Crack, January 6 2021, Mentions of COVID-19, Multilingual Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov Probably Started The Shit, Not compliant with anything, Other, Peggy Carter Is Here For Your Shit, Peggy’s Here Too Just Roll With It, Probably Incorrect Use of the Word Himbo, Rating is For Swear Words and Some Blood, Read It Anyway You Cowards, Sam Wilson Is Over Your Shit, Steve Learns What A Himbo Is, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes Are In The Shit, Team as Family, The Gang’s All Here - Freeform, Wear your masks people, i don’t know, is this crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onethingconstant/pseuds/onethingconstant
Summary: A slice of life in Washington, D.C. on January 6 (and technically 7), 2021.Sam Wilson is busy. Peggy Carter and Natasha Romanoff have a job to do. Bucky Barnes is on the prowl. And Steve Rogers just REALLY needs to punch some Nazis, you guys.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	Good Morning To Everyone Except Via Getty

**Author's Note:**

> What up, I’m not dead. 
> 
> To celebrate surviving The Great Fascist Fuckery Of January 6, 2021, here’s an idfic about what my favorite Marvel characters were doing during it. My universe is just as stupid as the real one, but a lot more fun.
> 
> Feel free to imagine literally any ship among these characters you like, or none.
> 
> Title inspired by a hilarious tweet from Talia Jane, an independent antifascist journalist whom you should absolutely follow on Twitter. Context: some _really_ dumb people claimed, for several hours, that a particular fascist in a now-infamous photograph from the Getty photo service (credited as “via Getty” in a lot of news coverage) was actually named … Via Getty. 
> 
> This is your regular reminder that Steve Rogers says to punch, and doxx, every Nazi you can.

_January 6, 2021, 3:12 p.m. EST_

The first thing Ava noticed as she woke up was the pain. It flared bright and hot behind her eyes before she opened them. She winced, groaned, and raised a hand to rub at the spot.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna help as much as you think,” a man’s voice said, dryly but not unkindly. “Hold still, okay? I’m still working on your bleeding.” 

Ava ignored him and massaged her right temple. “What the hell?” There was a cold, hard surface under her back, and something was tugging at her left thigh, rubbing at her leg through her jeans. With one final jerk, it stopped. 

“There we go,” the man sighed. “How you feeling—it’s Ava, right? Can you tell me what day it is?”

Ava squinted against the brightness of the fluorescent light overhead, then refocused at the face hovering over her. Dark skin like hers, buzzed black hair, intense eyes above his dark red facemask. The smell of antiseptic hit her in a wave. 

_Hospital_ , she thought vaguely. _How am I in a hospital? There isn’t any room._

“Yeah, this is more of an improvised situation,” the man said, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile as she realized she’d spoken out loud. “You wanna try sitting up?”

She did, with his hand warm between her shoulder blades. She was on a concrete floor in what looked like an empty shopfront. Around her, lying in spaced-out squares marked by bright blue masking tape, were a dozen other people in various stages of emergency medical treatment. Two women in scrubs and three others in dark street clothes moved among them, squatting, checking. Fresh bandages were visible everywhere. 

Immediately, she checked the patients’ faces. Every one was masked in paper or fabric, except for one older white woman who had a clear plastic oxygen mask fitted over her mouth and nose. 

Ava huffed a sigh of relief. No idiots. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe here,” the man in the red mask said. “Though you’ll wanna get your leg looked at long-term. It looks like you caught some shrapnel from a tear gas canister to go with your concussion. I cleaned it as much as I could, but these aren’t exactly sterile conditions, you know?” 

Ava looked down. There was a white pressure bandage wrapped neatly around her upper thigh. The lump of the gauze was along the outside, away from any arteries. Small mercies, she supposed.

“How’d I get here?” she asked. 

The man in the red mask jerked his head at the other side of the room. “My friend carried you from the Capitol. Looked like you were just trying to get out of the area when things kicked off?”

Ava nodded and blinked a few times to focus on the figure he’d indicated. It wasn’t hard to pick out the huge white man in a royal-blue mask pacing back and forth along the far wall, occasionally shaking his blond hair out of his eyes like a lion with an unruly mane. _Well, that’s one way not to touch your face_ , she thought, amused. _White boy needs a headband or something._

“He carried me the whole way?” she asked. “Are you guys, like, firemen or something?” 

The man in the red mask laughed at that. “Something,” he agreed. “I’m Sam, by the way. I’d shake hands, but…” He held up a glove smeared with Ava’s blood. Then he turned back to the blue-masked man. “Hey,” he called, “you wanna sit down before you wear a groove in the floor?”

The man in the blue mask flipped him off and shook his hair out of his eyes again as he kept walking. 

Sam snorted. “Suit yourself.” He turned back to Ava. “Okay, here’s the situation. I can’t make you stay anywhere you don’t wanna be, but D.C.’s a little crazy right now, so you’re welcome to hang out here until things quiet down. You got people you need to call, tell’em you’re okay?”

Ava nodded, then winced. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna wanna take it easy for a while. Let me get you sitting up against the wall and you can call whoever you need to. Hang on.” His voice rose sharply. “ _Steve!_ ” 

Like a sheepdog hearing a command, the big man in the blue mask—Steve, Ava supposed—stopped pacing and trotted over, weaving between floor-bound patients. At Sam’s instructions, he scooped Ava up like a child and carried her over to rest against the wall opposite the store’s glass front, which was currently covered in plywood. There was a closed door next to her that she assumed led to a stockroom or something. She barely had time to pull her phone out of her coat pocket before she was settled in place and Steve had gone back to pacing. 

Sam stood up and walked back over to the big guy as Ava swiped her phone open. She kept an eye on the two of them as she started texting everyone she knew and snapped a couple of quick creepshots. Nobody who could lift all hundred and seventy pounds of her like he was picking up a toddler was a regular firefighter. He had to be a super of some kind, but it was getting hard to keep track. Damn masks. She’d figure it out later.

“Are you gonna chill out any time soon?” Sam asked Steve, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve muttered, and there was a sharp Noo Yawk accent in there that contrasted sharply with Sam’s gentler drawl. “You know I’d rather be out there—”

“Getting your ass on CNN?” Sam asked. “C’mon, man. They’re gonna be fine, and we need you here.” 

Steve gave him a perfectly flat look. “Yeah, it’s not like a _pararescue_ can _move patients_. This isn’t exactly the first time somebody’s made work for me.” 

“Look, Tony might’ve bought this damn building inside of an hour, but there aren’t any beds or gurneys to be had on short notice in the middle of a pandemic. And honestly, if anybody comes through that door who _isn’t_ a patient, we’re gonna need more than one guy who can fight—”

The door opened, and both men tensed and turned, then relaxed as a buxom white woman in a royal blue peacoat ducked inside, breath steaming out of her scarlet mask and brown curls escaping from under her bright red knitted cap. 

“Well?” Steve asked her. 

The woman went up on tiptoe to bump her mask against his in what would have been a kiss if their faces had been uncovered. “Darling,” she drawled in a London accent, “do you doubt me?”

“Never,” Steve said softly, and his shoulders sank a little lower as he relaxed more. 

“As well you shouldn’t,” she replied, and pulled what looked like a USB drive out of her coat pocket. There was a smear of blood on her black lambskin glove. “Forty-three gigabytes of data about Hydra connections in the United States Congress. Happy Christmas to us.” She tucked it back into her coat. “Anthony will be thrilled.” 

“You know he hates it when you call him that.”

“Godmother’s privilege,” she sniffed. “Am I the first one back?”

“Barely,” said a smoky woman’s voice from behind Ava.

Ava jumped. The stockroom door had opened silently, and a man and a woman were filling the doorway beside her. They were dressed in a mix of black and dark gray that Ava wouldn’t have looked twice at if she’d passed them on the street—coats, jeans, boots, knit hats, and masks. Abruptly, she realized they were _too_ nondescript. They’d dressed for eyes to slide over them. 

The woman in black tugged off her hat and ran her fingers through her flame-red hair. The man behind her kept his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes distant even as they focused on Sam, Steve, and the woman in the blue coat. 

“How was it?” Steve asked them, straightening as he turned to face the new arrivals. 

“Ri _dic_ ulous,” the red-haired woman complained. She picked her way across the floor, stepping lightly between patients. The man in black followed her, his tread heavier but no less sure. “Honestly, you’d never believe what passes for security these days.” 

“To be fair,” the man in black rumbled, “we had to pick a few locks.”

“Only where nobody had kicked in the doors yet,” the redhead replied scathingly. “ _Amateurs_.” 

“Was anybody hurt?” Sam asked. 

The redhead waved a dismissive hand. “There was shooting in the rotunda, but we didn’t hang around after the Senate got out.” 

Steve locked eyes with the man in black. “Buck?”

The man in black sighed heavily. “Six operators on the grounds. Two of them had explosives. Bodies’ll be found eventually, but there weren’t any cameras on us when I got’em. And there’s no ballistics on a knife to the throat.” 

“Fucking Hydra,” Steve spat.

“Have you considered yoga?” the redhead asked him. “It’d do wonders for your blood pressure.” 

“His blood pressure’s fine,” Buck said, and snorted. “He just needs to get in a fight.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Steve told him fervently. “ _Finally_ , someone who _understands_.” 

“Y’all are dysfunctional as hell,” Sam observed. 

The redhead and the woman in the blue coat shrugged in unison like _Well, what did you expect?_

Buck clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Now that we’ve got the data,” he said, “I can take the world’s angriest golden retriever out for a run.” He looked at Sam. “You okay to spare him?”

“If the ladies are okay pitching in with patients,” Sam replied, looking between the two women. 

“I warn you,” the woman in the blue coat said archly, “my bedside manner leaves something to be desired.” 

“I can handle anything you can treat with vodka and a combat knife,” the redhead offered. 

Sam sighed. “I’ll take it. Go with God, dude.” 

“C’mon, asshole,” Buck said, and pulled Steve away from the group. His fingers moved so fast he was almost invisible, tugging and adjusting Steve’s clothes, yanking away a distinctive plaid scarf, nudging him to shift his posture. Thirty seconds later, he looked like a different, although still very large, man. Buck finished his work by yanking off his own black watch cap and jamming it down over Steve’s blond hair. 

“What about you?” Steve demanded, gesturing at Buck’s bare head, covered with newly exposed brown waves.

“There’s a million white guys with short brown hair,” Buck replied. “I’ll live.”

The redhead threw her own hat at him as she and Sam headed for the side of the room. It smacked Buck in the chest and he caught it before it fell.

“Or that,” he added, and pulled a charcoal hat over his head. “Now.” He turned back to Steve. “What’s the rule?”

Steve sighed. 

“C’mon, punk, we talked about this on the way in.” 

“This is what you get for being on recruitment posters,” the redhead called from where Sam was making her unpack bandages. 

Steve turned to flip her off, then returned his attention to Buck. “Do we _have_ to?” he asked. It was almost a whine. 

“I dunno, asshole, do you _have_ to listen to your sergeant?”

The woman in blue hummed a five-note snatch of a tune Ava didn’t recognize. Steve clearly did, though, and he sagged a little.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “No English.” 

“That’s my boy.” Buck leaned around him, blew a kiss to the redhead through his mask, and stalked out through the stockroom door, Steve at his heels. 

“You aren’t going with them?” the redhead asked the woman in the blue coat.

“I’m giving them an hour to start working off their feelings,” the brunette said dryly. “I’ll go out once I hear about something catching fire. It’s worked well enough for eighty years.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Sam muttered.

***

_January 7, 2021, 2:43 a.m. EST_

“Hey, Stevie!” Bucky yelled, scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel in the vain hope of getting out the lingering smell of smoke. “You’re on the Twitter!”

“Jesus Christ, stop calling it _the Twitter_ , it was _one time_ —” Steve stormed out of the tiny safehouse bathroom and snatched the phone out of Bucky’s hand. “What’m I lookin’ at?” 

“Journalist. No, a good one. Antifascist. She got you on video.” 

Steve groaned as Bucky tapped the play icon, and watched himself spin-kick a man in black camo and a Black Rifle Coffee Company hat out of frame, sending the man’s sheaf of plastic zip cuffs scattering down marble steps. Video-Steve yelled something filthy in Parisian French as he landed. 

“Did I teach you that?” Bucky asked, grinning. 

“The phrase was Dernier,” Steve said absently, scrolling through the journalist’s feed. “The kick was Natasha. What’s a ‘Himbo Ze Leaper’? Or an ‘Antifa Himbo’?”

“That’s your hashtag,” Bucky said proudly. “There’s some kinda cartoon character called Batroc the Leaper, based on Georges Batroc. They think you look like him.” 

“What’s a himbo?”

Bucky’s grin widened. 

Steve kept scrolling. “Oh, fuck me.” 

“All in good time, punk. C’mon, we’re having dinner with the team.”

**Author's Note:**

> *The five-note theme Peggy hums is a little tune that usually has the lyrics "Do as Peggy says". I figure Steve and the Howling Commandos must have said it enough during the war that it became a little nursery rhyme for them, and now she can use it to remind Steve not to be a dumbass. 
> 
> How's Peggy alive and approximately Steve's age in this universe? I don't know, I don't care, and neither do you.


End file.
